


The Killing Blow

by pinkgeranium



Series: Sandor in the Riverlands [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgeranium/pseuds/pinkgeranium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time he understands how Prince Rhaegar felt when Robert stove his chest in with his war-hammer at the Trident.  He has been dealt a killing blow.  The pain in his chest is extreme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Killing Blow

**Author's Note:**

> This the final installment of Sandor in the Riverlands - I have had the other two parts lying around forever but this part was only half-done (which I forgot until I posted the other two) so I had to finish it didn't I?
> 
> Like the previous story in this series, this story owes an even larger debt to GRRM than usual as it contains a number of quotes from Book Three of ASoIaF.
> 
> Again quotations are clearly indicated by being in bold and marked with *.
> 
> My thanks to GRRM who as their creator owns this world and these characters exclusively.

The Inn holds memories from a different life for both of them but Sandor is desperate for information and wine.  Once he stood at the beating heart of the Seven Kingdoms, now he knows nothing.  The other girl could be dead and he wouldn’t know.

Arya doesn’t want to go inside.  She thinks they might know him, might try to take him.  It’s true he doesn’t bother to hide his face anymore.  If anyone wants to try him they can.  His anger needs an outlet.

He takes one step into the common room and everyone goes quiet.  He curses himself for not listening to the little she-wolf. He knows two of the soldiers and the man they serve all too well.  He hears the she-wolf come in behind him. This won’t end well.  He should tell her to run.

 **“Looking for your brother, Sandor?”*** Polliver asks around the bulk of the girl on his lap.

 **“Looking for a cup of wine,”*** he answers demanding a flagon from the innkeep and tossing some coppers on the floor.  The innkeep witters on about not wanting trouble.  _Why the hell are people always calling him Ser?  If they recognise his face then they know he is no knight.  He is famous for three things: his scars, his kills and refusing to become a knight._   He yells at the innkeep to bring two cups.

There is a pimply boy with the two soldiers, a boy he doesn’t know, a squire most like.

 **“Is this the lost puppy Ser Gregor spoke of? The one who piddled in the rushes and ran off?”** * The boy is clearly short on sense and is like to run short on life if he keeps this up.   **“Ser said his puppy brother tucked his tail between his legs when the battle got too warm at King’s Landing. He said he ran off whimpering.”**

Sandor doesn’t move but he can tell the boy’s comments are making the other two edgy. Polliver goes so far as to push the girl out of his lap and stand up, trying to excuse the boy’s words on the grounds that he’s drunk, and can’t hold his wine.

 **“Then he shouldn’t drink,”*** Sandor replies.  The boy is about to say that Sandor doesn’t scare him when The Tickler twists his ear and he squeals like a pig instead.

The innkeep finally returns with the flagon of wine and two stone cups.  Sandor lifts the flagon straight to his mouth and swallows half of it in a single gulp before slamming it down on the nearest table. Then he tells the innkeep to pour the wine and pick up the coppers as they’re the only coin he’s likely to see.

**“We’ll pay when we’re done drinking.”***

**“When you’re done drinking you’ll tickle the innkeep to see where he keeps his gold. The way you always do.”*** _Might as well warn the old man the way of things.  He should get out while he can._ Sandor glances around the room and notices that the other customers who were in the common room when he arrived have slipped away.  It is just Gregor’s men, Sandor and the girl.  

**“If you’re looking for Ser, you come too late. He was at Harrenhal, but now he’s not. The queen sent for him. King Joffrey’s dead, you know, poisoned at his own wedding feast.”***

Sandor feels nothing.  If he ever cared anything for the King he once guarded, the child prince he served for so long those feelings are dead.

**“So much for my brave brothers of the Kingsguard. Who killed him?”***

**“The Imp, it’s thought. Him and his little wife.”***

**“What wife?”*** he asks Polliver.  He has only himself to blame for the answer.

**“The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”***

The words hit him like a blow and he collapses onto the bench by the door, unable to stand.  For the first time he understands how Prince Rhaegar felt when Robert stove his chest in with his war-hammer at the Trident.  He has been dealt a killing blow.  The pain in his chest is extreme.  Who would have thought words could hurt so much?   _No, they didn't marry her to the Imp.  What did he do to her?  Whatever he did the Imp should be made to suffer for it._

 **“She ought to dip him in wildfire and cook him. Or tickle him till the moon turns black.”*** He lifts his cup to his lips and swallows it in one mouthful.  The pain in his chest is screaming for more wine.  _Talk about something else. Find out what else is going on; try to forget about the little bird._   He asks about Harrenhal (Gregor has it back of course); about what is happening at Riverrun.  He pours more wine, one for Arya, one for himself.  He drinks his quickly staring into the fire. _He hair was the colour of fire.  Is .  Her hair is the colour of fire._

**“The little bird flew away, did she? Well, bloody good for her. She shit on the Imp’s head and flew off.”*** _Where is she? Is she dead?  Did she escape?  Did someone take her?_

**“They’ll find her if it takes half the gold in Casterly Rock.”***

**“A pretty girl, I hear. Honey sweet.”*** The Tickler says with a leer.

 **“And courteous,”*** Sandor agrees, _even to a dog like me_. **“A proper little lady. Not like her bloody sister.”***

**“They found her too. The sister. She’s for Bolton’s bastard, I hear.”***

Sandor laughs then, without glancing at Arya.  _Whoever they’re marrying to Bolton’s bastard it’s not Arya Stark._   He’s saved her from that at least.  Even if he couldn’t save her sister.  _Think of something else.   Talk about something else._   Riverrun isn’t an option – maybe he can get Arya onto a ship north - so he asks if there are ships at Saltpans.

**“Saltpans? How should I know? The traders are back at Maidenpool, I heard. Randyll Tarly took the castle and locked Mooton in a tower cell. I haven’t heard shit about Saltpans.”***

**The Tickler leaned forward. “Would you put to sea without bidding farewell to your brother? Ser would sooner you returned to Harrenhal with us, Sandor. I bet he would. Or King’s Landing . . . ”***

**“Bugger that. Bugger him. Bugger you.”***

The fight itself is a blur.  The wine went straight to his head and he is not as fast or as efficient as he should be.  But in the end it is his brother’s men that lie dead on the floor.  The she-wolf killed The Tickler herself and he has her finish the squire as the boy was done for anyway.  Arya is unharmed.  He is not.  He makes bandages for his neck and thigh and holds the dead squire’s cloak to his bleeding ear.  The wine masks the worst of the pain but Arya has to help him onto his horse. 

By the time they’ve reached a good stopping place he is feeling the pain and his makeshift bandages are soaked with blood.  He knows it isn’t good.  He struggles down from Stranger and puts Arya to work watering the horses, gathering wood for a fire and a stick for him to bite on, ripping the squire’s cloak into bandages and then tending his wounds.  They are as bad as he imagined and the stick is not enough to stop him screaming from the pain.

He must have passed out too because when he wakes it is morning and he nudges the she-wolf awake with the toe of his boot.  When he moves he is slow and weak and clumsy.  He manages to climb onto Stranger himself but he knows he won’t stay there long. Sure enough he calls a stop before noon.  When he tries to dismount he falls off Stranger instead.  He lacks the strength to stand so he drags himself to rest under a tree with his back against the trunk. He would kill for wine, but all Arya offers him is muddy water.  He thinks he falls asleep then.

When he wakes he sees the she-wolf holding the miniature sword she took from Polliver.  She looks poised to strike at him.  Whatever she does he knows he’s done for.  He feels the fever burning through him.  He smells the stink of corruption rising from his thigh. 

 **“You remember where the heart is?”***  he asks.

**“I ... I was only ...”***

**“ _Don’t lie_. I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it.”* **_Why doesn’t she do it? I know she wants too.  She’s been hoping she’d get the chance to kill me all along._ **“I killed your butcher’s boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after.”*** He’s staring straight at Arya but in his fever it’s the other girl he sees, the one who was born a wolf like this one, but raised to be a bird, the one he abandoned to her cage.  His tears are flowing now as he remembers how he came to be here. **“And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I** ** _took_** **the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf. Do you mean to make me beg, bitch?** ** _Do it!_** **The gift of mercy . . . avenge your little Michael...”***

**“ _Mycah_. You don’t deserve the gift of mercy.”***

She is Arya again when she turns her back on him.  He watches as she saddles her horse.  The fever has him now and sometimes he sees one Arya, sometimes two, and sometimes he sees the other girl with hair like fire and eyes like the sea.  She also has the black wings of a bat which she flaps in his direction.  He doesn’t bother trying to move.  Whatever happens now the result is the same.  He’s going to die. If Arya goes maybe the other girl will stay to watch over his deathbed like some dark angel.  He would like the mercy though; it would be easier than what is coming.  The less time his life has to flash before his eyes the better.

She is just one Arya again when she climbs onto the horse but she has the face of a wolf. **“A real wolf would finish a wounded animal.”***

 **“You shouldn’t have hit me with an axe. You should have saved my mother.”*** That is all the answer he needs.  She doesn’t understand the reason they call mercy a gift is that true mercy can only be given to those who don’t deserve it.

He watches Arya ride away, but as he hoped the other girl stays behind.  She stands closer to him now, flapping her bat’s wings to cool his burning face.  This time the fire is burning him up from the inside, it isn’t burning in the brazier.

“Please, I’m burning.  Put it out. Put the fire out.” He would shout but he doesn’t have the strength to raise his voice.

“You are not the first man to be reborn in fire Sandor Clegane,” she says. “Before your story ends many others will be reborn from the flames.”


End file.
